


the Hanged Man & the Fool

by eggwriter



Category: Oklahoma! - Rodgers/Hammerstein
Genre: Canon alteration, Character Development, Country setting, Homoerotic Cowboys. Yeehaw, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 07:51:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20963060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggwriter/pseuds/eggwriter
Summary: they hold up a mirror to a hanged man to see if his breath fogs up,but instead his eyes fly open and he sees his reflection and asks,dear god, what have i done, dear god, what have i become?





	the Hanged Man & the Fool

**Author's Note:**

> Can't believe I'm posting this.  
Originally in my groupchat it started out as me joking about this ship until I wrote this to prove a point to the groupchat that I _actually_ think this could be interesting and whatever. 
> 
> To blame for this is almost exclusively the OK!19 portrayal of Jud, more specifically Patrick for giving this bastard some depth besides asshole villain. No one redeems him, he has to self realize and redeem himself.  
Also there's cowboy kissing.
> 
> Warnings for some (internalized) homophobia and themes around death.

**I**

The moment Jud Fry moved into the small community just outside of Claremore, knew at once that no one liked him. It wasn’t something he wasn’t used to; before when he had lived up north, it had been the same attitude. The same narrowed eyes, the long stares, the silence.

But it was their attitudes that surprised him, because Jud couldn’t work out what it was he had done to already have them set their minds about him.

Jud _used _to know why. Rumors would get around about him, Jud the freak, Jud who’s good on the eyes at but shit for talking, Jud who lingers too close, Jud who doesn’t laugh at any jokes, Jud who stares for too long – but that was back then.

The small commune, well, Jud has no idea why _they_ hate him.

He begins his day the same as everyone else, stepping out of the smokehouse, eyes to the bright sun and stretching until something in his shoulders creak, and every time Aunt Eller sees him come in for work her big face freezes and her smile stiffens.

It’s only to him. She meets Curly with an equivocal grin, she rustles Laurey until she’s on the edge of annoyance and joy, she loudly greets whoever else walks past; but not Jud. She tells him what needs helping, what needs fixing, what the day holds; but she does so stiffly.

The late summer sun rises during breakfast and Jud wonders why things are the way they are, and if they could change. If there was any way for him to mend it, to hold a conversation resulting in people bursting into laughter around him, to greet or bid him farewell and mean it.

It’s not a life that someone should lead, a life filled with nothing but desire. Jud simply _wants_, wants for the fellow farmhands to look at him with something not cold and sharp, wants to fit into the small commune like everyone else does.

He gives that as reason for some of his attraction to Laurey. Her freckles are pretty, her long black hair is lit up like dark gold when sun hits it, her cheeks are round and her smile is thoughtful – but there’s more. She was the only one to ever give him a hint of a smile, and if everyone likes Laurey, does that mean they’d like Jud if she liked him?

Hope was lost about the others a while before. Eller doesn’t like to talk to him, if he approaches Annie one of her beaus appear in an instant, and Curly-

And Curly-

Jud dips his head deep between his shoulders, nose buried in his glass. _The cream of the crop_, he hears Eller’s nasal voice in his head, half boasting and half joking. Curly and Laurey, the ‘lovers’ who actually never have loved one another, always walking the edge and always somewhere between annoyed and enamored. They were very pretty. Laurey had smiled at him once, and even if Curly never had shown any direct platonic affection his eyes were soft once. Lopsided smile to Eller and Gertie, coltish in statue and coy like he knew something no one else did.

Jud used to wish they could’ve gotten along, before his eternal reputation of _butcher, queer, mute, freak, loner_ arrived to the commune and Curly began to side eye him.

Before that, Jud had hoped that perhaps the young false lovers would be his ticket in.

What a horrible thing it is, to hope.

– –

The day is golden and slow, the sun just barely cresting out from clouds resulting in an appreciatively lukewarm day. Work is the usual, hay bales that have to be stored before winter, cows being reluctantly moved around, always something that needs repairing. It’s a small commune, it’s no wonder they hired Jud.

For all their grievances, Curly by midday still comes by to visit Jud, giving him a glass of water as is common practice in an environment where dehydration is frequent.

There is a slight implication that Jud has picked up on after working here for long enough; no one trusts him. He’s not trusted with the more important tasks, not trusted to be alone with certain people, and not even trusted to take care of himself.

It makes the glass of water, usually a kind gesture, leave a sour taste in Jud’s mouth.

“You done yet?” Curly says and motions to the barn behind them, Jud’s current job of checking that the foundation is solid and will hold for next installment of bad weather.

“No,” Jud says and finishes the glass. “Not yet.”

“Any good news?”

“No water damage. Means only small repairs will have to be done.”

“That’s good.”

Curly stands with his hands on his narrow hips as he runs his tongue against the inside of his mouth. Already there’s an uncomfortable tension hanging thick between them.

“And you?” Jud asks. Curly raises one thick brow.

“And me?”

“What are you doing today?”

“Don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

Jud thinks about the time someone left a small glass of milk out on a hot day, wondering in both situations how something could sour so fast.

At least the milk wasn’t his fault.

“You asked me first,” Jud explains and puts the glass down on the soft soil.

“I asked you if you were done. I didn’t invite you to pry into my day.”

“It’s not like that,” snaps Jud and feels his voice rise, clenches his fists and at once regrets it because he sees Curly’s eyes flicker down. Jud isn’t dumb, he knows that the reason Aunt Eller tries to keep them separate goes both ways, that the whole commune thinks they’re one day gonna blow up and fight one another like angry roosters.

True, the thought has struck a few times. Jud ain’t violent, he’s a butcher and a leatherworker, strong with nimble hands, but not naturally violent. That still isn’t gonna keep at bay thoughts of punching Curly in the cheek, not when the cowhand finds him on a bad day.

“I don’t get you, Jud,” Curly says with a slight sneer. “I don’t get what kind of man you are, and I ain’t too keen on figuring it out. What is it you want?”

“You mean with Laurey,” Jud responds coldly and sees Curly’s entire body shift.

“Maybe I do,” Curly says venomously. He steps away, as if realizing the tension of the situation and heeding Aunt Eller’s warning in his head. “You ought stop staring at people. At me, Eller, Laurey – you’d do best in quitting that, Jud.”

“I don’t stare.”

“Oh yes you do. Like some kinda snake, frozen and watching. We all see it, you know?” Curly takes another step away and shifts his weight from leg to leg. “No one likes being stared at,” finishes Curly and turns to leave.

The air is heavy, pressure all thick like a storm or a headache is on its way.

“But she stares back,” Jud calls after him.

Curly looks over his shoulder.

“What?”

“I said she stares back,” calls Jud again and feels emotion crack his voice. “You might hate me, but she doesn’t. When you’re looking at Gertie or Betsy or Ronnie, when you’re not there, then she looks at me, and she’s not scared.”

Like a screw finally turning; that turns out to be the key to get under Curly’s skin. Curly spins around, pretty face turned hardened by rare rage, and he rushes at Jud with his hands raised. He swings a fist at Jud’s cheekbones, and Jud ducks under it. He expects another strike or an opportunity to swing at Curly’s middle, but instead Curly collides against him like a bull. Using his weight, he manages to shove them both against the barn wall and knocks the air out of Jud’s lungs.

The wood paneling cuts into Jud’s back and he feels Curly grab him by the lapels. Despite the rage and the sudden outburst, it’s not as violent as Jud was ready for; Curly could’ve gone his neck.

“You sayin’ I’m some kind of skirt chasing scoundrel?” Curly snaps. His face is so close that Jud can see each pore, each bead of sweat. Curly’s eyelashes are prettier than they ought to be on a man.

“She looks at me,” Jud says trembling and puts his hands on Curly’s wrists. Neither of them are particularly large men, but if a real fight was to erupt Jud doesn’t doubt his own victory. Curly’s arms are sinewy but thin, with enough force and the right position, Jud break them. He could even pop one arm out of its socket.

“Even if she looks at you, do you know what she tells me? In private?” hisses Curly and the right corner of his mouth twitches in schadenfreude. “She tells me that she’s scared of telling you no, because she thinks you’ll hurt her.”

“I wouldn’t,” Jud hisses right back.

“She says she doesn’t want to be left alone with you, because she thinks you’re gonna hurt her.”

“I wouldn’t!” Jud spits out from between his teeth. “I don’t want that, I w–“

“Then what do you want?” interrupts Curly and he looks truly angry now. His pitch black eyes are boiling with a rage Jud’s never seen, the locks on his head are wiry and give him a nearly comical appearance.

Jud wants. He wants so much - to be accepted, to be wanted, to feel someone against his narrow chest. He wants to know what made everyone he’s ever met decide right off the fence that he’s horrid and deserves hate, before even knowing his name. He wants so dearly to be touched, a stroke of the hand or a squeeze around his waist, from almost anyone.

And it would be easier to let go of this desire, this hope, if there wasn’t just the inkling or belief that perhaps one day it will change.

It would be easier to let go, if they truly openly did hate him, more than just side eyes and whispers.

Jud kisses Curly and it is all teeth.

The idea hurts, the mental image of Curly with his calf-eyes narrow with rage and affront, that pretty mouth calling him a _filthy queer, _Laurey calling him a _freak_, Eller saying _she always knew something was wrong with him_, every man staring at him disgusted — things that instantly would poke holes in Jud’s daydreams and wishes.

It’s not meant to go the way it does. Curly isn’t meant to stare at him open mouthed when Jud pulls away, brows high and cheeks turning red. He’s not meant to blink at Jud three, four, five times, he’s not meant to remain so close that his shirt rustles against Jud’s own.

And Jud isn’t meant to grab Curly by the shoulders, spin them around so it’s Curly against the hard barn wall, and Curly isn’t supposed to let him do that. When his hand grabs Jud’s long yellow hair it should be to drag him off, not pull it just between gently and painfully, _and he isn’t supposed to kiss back—_

“Oh god, stop,” Curly suddenly cries out. Jud feels the sound beneath his mouth, lips on Curly’s throat. He freezes still and then Curly shoves him off with such force that Jud stumbles back like a newborn calf, falls ass first onto the grass and stares.

Both of them are breathing so heavily. The noon is completely silent besides ragged gasps. Jud prepares himself for ugly words, but neither of them say anything.

Curly wipes his mouth roughly, like he’s tasted something vile. Jud still waits for his mouth to say something terrible, but nothing comes.

Not a word is said. Curly picks up the empty glass and leaves without a second glance.

**II**

Jud decides that regret is the worst feeling in the world. Worse than grief, worse than rage, worse than hope - _regret _rules supreme, cold and harrowing and with no cure but time.

Curly doesn’t tell anyone. The morning comes and people’s perception of Jud is unchanged, not better nor worse. It comes as a shock, because Jud truly was certain this would result in him being finally exiled.

Today is hot and bright, no threat of looming grey weather, and there is no Curly to be seen crooning by the picket fences and smiling lopsided at passerbys. Eventually Jud hears that Curly is headed into town today for various errands, and that he will be back by morning. He finds himself grateful that he won’t have to deal with yesterday’s actions already today.

Whatever relationship is between Curly and Laurey, it is a mystery to everyone including the two lovers themselves. Something constantly on the edge of genuine and fleeting, and frankly admirable in its longevity. If they announced themselves to be married tomorrow then it would be very little surprise to anyone, but in some bizarre way they also are not decidedly together.

Something uncertain, but also very sweet.

He thinks about the things Curly said, that she’s scared of him. Jud gets lost in his own thoughts as he self reflects to find what about him is so frightening: the vague blame he always puts on himself for being so loathed, instead turns into real reasoning and genuine reflection.

He’s clean and well-shaven, so that can’t be it.

He works well, he prides himself on his efficiency.

The pictures in the smokehouse? They’re the same as any other man’s, except Jud doesn’t bother to hide them, thinks it’s better to not hide secrets.

_But maybe you should_, comes a thought and it has a suspiciously similar tone to Curly. _Maybe you should hide it, not showcase filth and slop on your walls._

Jud runs a hand through his hair and thinks about it, about how it must seem from someone else’s perspective, from Laurey’s perspective.

_She’s scared of being alone with you, _a different Curly in his head says, an echo of yesterday. And Jud is not unfamiliar with the cruelty of men, he knows exactly what Laurey is scared of. Ransacking his conscious Jud decides that he would never hurt her, he looks into the depth of his own soul and decides that no, he could never do that to anyone.

But Laurey doesn’t know that. Laurey only knows Jud as a perverted hired hand who slobbers over her from a distance, and whose fault is that if not his own?

Again, the formless blame turns to something real and Jud wants to heave as useless pondering turns to genuine thoughts, like someone finally has held up a mirror to a hanged man and said _look upon yourself,_ but years and lifetimes too late. His reputation has been set in stone and Jud doesn’t know how to change it, if such a thing even is possible.

Lunch comes around and Jud does not show up, banishes himself to work and wallows in a trench of self-hatred and pity. It would be easy to succumb to it, to let this guilt of his own actions swallow him, to become the epitome of what he always was afraid people saw him as. To give in, to utterly lose himself - and yet he doesn’t.

If apathy is sweet poison, then hope must be the bitter antidote. It is tempting to become a creature of nothing but blame and senseless hatred, but Jud simply can’t. As he sits in bed he instead thinks about how things could be. Realism tells him it probably won’t happen but hope, but the part of him that dumbly kept trying persisted. Not for the sake of Laurey’s smile or Curly’s kiss, Eller’s laugh or Ali’s company, or maybe because of all these things at once. Maybe none of them in particular, maybe just the abstract knowledge that _this isn’t all there is_.

Because maybe he can change, from something terrible to something new, and maybe there will be more to life than endless work and an existence filled with nothing but wanting.

Two days have passed since he and Curly kissed, and the weather is still strangely warm for a late summer. Jud wants to speak to someone, but doesn’t know who. He feels like he’s going to explode in a flash of words if he doesn’t get to speak soon, but due to the reputation he has done nothing to vanquish he is not seen as a chatty fellow.

The way people’s schedules overlap it’s nigh impossible to avoid someone, at one point or another during the day everyone is bound to have bumped into one another. Laurey and him do so at lunch, and at once a wave of guilt and shyness wash over him.

Even if Curley and Laurey are not married, the word _infidelity_ sneaks into Jud’s thoughts like a spider crawling into a dark corner.

Months ago Laurey had hada small fling with a traveller from Alaska, and it had been the top tier entertainment in the commune. Curly had paced around the town, displeased and not too unlike a disrespected rooster, snappy and short tempered. “You don’t get performances like this at them big city theaters,” Aunt Eller had murmured and then chuckled to herself.

They’ve only gotten closer since then, and Jud wonders if he maybe is exaggerating his role as ‘the other woman’. 

It feels like a betrayal of his own values, how quickly he seats into this role and how fast his attraction to Laurey suddenly shifts perspective.

It makes him wonder if it ever was about her, if it ever was about wanting to feel her against his chest and kiss her round cheeks: that maybe it only ever was about wanting to be wanted, and that he doesn’t even have the constitution to care _who _wants him.

But he still wants Laurey. He still wants Laurey to want him, to see him as more than the mangy hired hand and butcher that he has seemingly always presented himself as.

He wants to tell her that, wants to tell Laurey as well as the entire commune that _I’m not the horrible man you think I am, I can be better, I think I’ll be better, I’ll be more than just the perverted butcher I seem to be, I think I can do that_.

“Have a nice day, Laurey,” he says instead when lunch is done.

**III**

“This is the best time of the year,” Eller proclaims after lunch. “Kids always think that it’s summer, but can you get corn this golden in summer? You can’t.”

Laurey hums noncommittally in response, busy running her tongue along her teeth and feeling bothersome kernels of corn refusing to leave.

“I always liked spring,” she then responds. “Very early spring – all the good has yet to come, you know? It’s cold and it’s dead, but not for long.”

Aunt Eller tuts and mumbles something about _the sun’s yet to come too_, but doesn’t pursue the topic.

They stack up the plates and cups and the tin reflects the sun so bright that the light plays on the table. Even with the melancholy of fall, Laurey must admit that the food it brings almost makes the approach of winter bearable. Today’s lunch was boiled corn with salt and butter, and the day before that it was a sort of pumpkin stew. The apple trees are heavy with fruit so ripe it looks like it’s about to burst, and Laurey knows from experience that this is the only time of year when the apples aren’t sour as limes.

Admittedly, the work too ceases to be so monotone in the later parts of the year. Always something that needs to be fixed, someone calling for Laurey when she rides past because everything needs to be in ideal shape before winter. When first moving to the small commune Laurey had been surprised at what a big deal everyone made winter into, thinking that they’re just above Texas, how bad could it be?

If there was a higher power, truly it must’ve heard her and laughed, because the winter that followed was one so unforgiving that Laurey grew a deep understanding for bears and other animals that chose to hibernate.

“Alright, fine,” Aunt Eller all of a sudden mutters when they’re done. “I’ll bite. What is it?”

“What’s what?”

“You’re staring at the horizon like it’s gonna start dancing for ya. You wanna tell me what’s on your mind?”

Laurey holds back a sigh, closing her eyes and leaning back against the wall of the ranch. At once she is reminded what a dangerous game it is to not instantly respond to Eller, because the woman starts to guess.

“Is it Jud again? He giving you trouble?”

“Oh, don’t act all concerned just because Curly’s not here,” Laurey says a little sourly and lets the implication hang in the air. Eller throws her hands up.

“I didn’t mean it like that! I just know that if it ain’t a headache then it’s the future, and if it ain’t the future then it’s Curly, and if it ain’t Curly…” she makes a gesture with her hand to imply the rest.

Laurey decides against listing other concerns currently on her mind, it’ll only be adding things for Eller to nitpick about.

“It _is_ about the future, actually,” Laurey mumbles, and it is not a complete lie.

Yes, her mind is weighed down by concerns of life and what will happen next, what _might _not happen next, endless pondering that does nothing but end in a dull ache in her temple. She’s heard people tell Ike he needs to stop living in the past, but Laurey’s problem is the opposite in that she _wishes _she could hang onto the past and the current.

Instead she drifts off worrying about what will happen. About winter, about spring, about the holes in her clothes and about various ailments plaguing the cattle. About what she’ll do, what she _won’t _do, like some sort of ouroboros of infinite apprehension.

And about Curly and about Jud. About Curly leaving for the train in a hurry, about Jud being unable to look her in the eye and saying _have a nice day. _If not for the lack of bruises or wounds on either of the men’s skin, she would’ve been almost completely certain that they had attempted to wrestle to death and shamefully failed.

_Have a nice day, Laurey_, Jud echoes in her head and something cold digs inside her belly. Unpredictability was the trait that had made her fall for Curly, but in Jud it was a trait that caused her chilling dread. She never knows what the man has in mind or what he is planning, and that combined with his reputation of butcher and arsonist makes him into a dangerous man.

But very few times has Laurey actually felt genuinely afraid of him. Many times Curly has wrapped an arm around her protectively when Jud looks at them as if to guard her, a kind gesture even if she doubts Curly has ever been in a fistfight and much less ever won one.

Almost two years ago she had told Curly “I brought him some soup”, and Curly had construed this as the beginning of Jud’s unhealthy obsession. Laurey understood how Curly got the impression, but it wasn’t how it had been at all; she had seen Jud at his rawest, a sick and haggard man with a scrappy blonde beard who had taken the bowl as gratefully as if it was gold.

It would be easier, Laurey thinks bitterly, to have her feelings about Jud be nothing but loathing and fear, if not for the soft glimmer she sometimes catches in his eye.

If her mother were here she’d say it is Laurey’s own fault for only getting attached to aloof men with no prospects.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Aunt Eller says without knowing what Laurey really means. Even if she doesn’t know what she is soothing, it does serve Laurey some small comfort.

——

Jud has been petrified only four times in his life.

The first time was when he was eight, an unsupervised young bastard, running through fields and falling flat to the ground when something bit him. He had screamed and cried without stop, until a younger woman found him and slapped him up the head as she said, “it’s just a garter snake, yer gonna be fine.”

The second time was when he was a teenager, wandering the forest edge and thinking about nothing when he saw a bear with a dead deer in its giant maw. It had looked at him, with amber eyes that carried too much intelligence for a beast, and then it had left.

The third time was when he had worked in Montana for a winter, and a farmer twice his size had blamed him for the loss of a horse, claiming that he stole it. The man had chased him, and if not for the fact Jud was smaller and faster he would’ve been caught, hearing the farmer scream behind him, _Fry you son of a whore, I’m gonna rip your eyes out and let the dogs feast on the rest of you, you piece of shit, you hear me?_

The fourth time is when Curly has returned from town. He gestures for Jud to step inside the barn, and before Jud can ask anything Curly says,

“I told Laurey,” and Jud’s heart goes cold as a stone.

He tries to envision the scene in his head. The lover and the farmgirl lit up only by evening sun, talking to one another as the lover leans in and whispers, _Jud kissed me_. In the scene, Jud tries to picture how Laurey would have reacted, how she would have reacted to hearing of his _perversion_.

“Why?” Jud asks coldly.

“Cuz I wanted her to know,” Curly explains and kicks at the dirty floor. “She said, ‘I was wondering what had happened.’ And then she asked me if you forced me. I said you didn’t.”

Jud holds back an impulse to wriggle and writhe his hands and instead digs his nails into his own skin.

Every word falling out of Curly’s mouth feels like a knife hanging by a thread, like it at any moment might fall and impale. Jud is _afraid_, he is scared as to what will happen next and a part of him wants to simple leave so he won’t have to hear the rest.

Jud stays to hear it. For many years forwards, he remains plagued by the fact he never knew if he stayed out of bravery or if he stayed because he simply couldn’t move.

“She asked me if I had any idea why you did it, and I said, yeah, I got a few theories,” continues Curly. “I’ll spare you most of ‘em, because I think I know why you did it.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re _lonely_, Fry.”

Something sinister and sarcastic dips into Curly’s smooth voice as he says, “because Jud Fry is the most misunderstood man in the territory, because not women nor men ever got him, except miss Laurey Williams-“

“No.”

“-who one winter brought him a bowl of _soup_, only woman to ever do that for him-“

“Stop.”

“-and Jud Fry thought that’s what love means, a bowl of soup means a woman is ready ’n aching for you, that you’re all she can think about, so-“

“Stop it.”

“-so Jud Fry thought that meant _yes, _and ain’t that swell because Jud Fry don’t know how to take _no _for an answer, he don’t–“

Curly is abruptly cut off when Jud attacks him, pouncing like a wild animal and knocking them both down to the wooden floor.

They wrestle in a blind flurry and Curly despite being so slight a man makes for a formidable opponent. His hard fist connects with Jud’s temple, and for a second Jud panics as his vision flecks with black. Jud waves his arms blindly and manages to strike something soft, resulting in a choked gasp that lets Jud know he hit Curly in the throat.

It’s not hard to overpower him after that. Jud’s vision returns in bright flecks as he straddles Curly’s chest and grabs onto his flailing wrists so that he won’t get another key strike to Jud’s head. It takes the entirety of Jud’s weight to pin Curly down, and even then all it would take is a second of doubt on his part and Curly would be able to break free.

The cowhand goes still beneath him and stares up with his handsome eyes furious. Jud’s hair falls down around his head and blocks his vision like a partition so that all he can see is Curly and the wooden planks.

“You see what I mean?” Curly says from beneath him and his voice is hoarse. “You think Laurey, you think _anyone_ looks at you with anything but fear when you act like some kind of rabid _dog_!? ‘_She looks at me_’ - is this what you’re gonna do, huh? Get yourself a bride and the moment she disagrees, you-“

“It’s just you,” Jud shouts back with enough force to interrupt him. “I’d never attack anyone-“

“You’re doing a damn fine job of proving that-!”

“It’s only you, McLain, I’d never hurt her or Will or Annie or anyone else, it’s just you, _you._ You didn’t ever like me, always acted like you were so much better than me, so much sweeter.”

It’s like floodgates having been burst open, Curly stares wide eyed and Jud can’t stop the words leaving his mouth.

“You never as much as looked at me twice, you made your mind up about me the moment you saw me and then everyone followed suit. And I never got to change that, and now it’s too late and they all hate me all because _you_ decided you didn’t like me, and now I have nothing! You asked me what I want, Curly, I want it all; some god damn crumbs of what you got, cuz you got everything you could possibly want and I _don’t!_“

His grip on Curly’s wrists loosens and Jud leans back, gasping for air feverishly as if strangled and waiting for Curly to take his chance and retaliate. No hits come and instead Curly lies there, eyes wide and staring at Jud like he at any moment might combust.

“Don’t you ever wish you could start over?” Jud croaks. In front of him Curly suddenly becomes blurry, and Jud realizes with a start that he is weeping.

“I do,” Jud continues and blinks. “I wish it every night. That I could start from scratch, that I could come to Claremore and then here and I wouldn’t be– that I’d be– I–“

Jud trails off, unable to find the right words.

He gets up so he’s no longer sitting on Curly’s chest and wipes at his eyes, humiliated to be crying in front of another man and _especially_ in front of Curly. For a moment he considers reaching out a hand to help Curly up to his feet, but decides against it when he sees the indecipherable expression on the man’s handsome face.

“Jesus Christ, Jud,” Curly murmurs and breaks the silence. Jud expects him to continue speaking and to say something, but the barn instead hangs completely quiet around them. The rare solitude has never been more appreciated, Jud has no wish for them to be walked in on and he imagines Curly feels the same.

“I’m sorry,” Jud mutters weakly as Curly gets up. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I shouldn’t have hit you. You just- you never leave me _alone_, I can’t–”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t mention it,” mutters Curly in response and touches at his throat. Jud realizes he might’ve robbed Curly of his singing ability for at least a few days.

Another beat of silence passes, and then Curly turns around and quietly says;

“Sorry.”

“And I’m sorry I kissed you,” Jud adds and sees Curly’s narrow frame freeze still.

“Right,” Curly mumbles. From the way his arms move Jud can tell he is straightening his collar, fixing himself up after a tumble on the ground. “Yeah, uh, what was that about?”

“You said it yourself,” Jud says and shrugs even though Curly can’t see it. “I was lonely.”

“Yeah. I was joking ‘bout that, Jud.”

“But you were right. I was lonely. And I thought it would make you angry, that you’d tell the rest and then I’d be forced to leave.”

“You what, you… you kissed me so I’d… so I’d hate you?”

“And I was lonely.” Jud inhales and tries to focus on the sensation of his ribs expanding, the air running through his nose, anything to ground himself.

“I wanted to do it,” Jud admits because he’s gotten this far and he fails to see the point in stopping now. “I wanted to kiss you.”

For the first time since meeting him, Jud sees Curly rendered utterly speechless. One hand on his hip, the other scratching his dark hair, his back turned so that Jud can’t see his face.

“Do you think you’re gonna do it again?” Curly says quietly. “Kiss me, I mean?”

“I wouldn’t force you to do it.”

“That I believe.”

––

Later on in the same week, Jud thinks about the tale of Saint George and the Dragon. A horrible draconic beast that required sacrifice in form of maids to devour, less it would destroy the entire town.

Maybe it is too harsh a euphemism for what they do – Curly isn’t a maiden and Jud isn’t a dragon, and the only way Laurey fits into it would be as the knight saint.

But that implies villainous intent in what Jud does, it implies helplessness in Curly, when maybe the best way to put it would be a “self sacrificial” act on Curly’s part.

They won’t utter it but the implication hangs low, _I do this so she won’t have to_, but that adds too sinister a weight to Curly letting Jud come close.

Perhaps it can be considered mutually beneficial. There are things Jud knows that Curly doesn’t, things he can teach him from long years of being a hired hand.

They end up kissing again, Jud one evening pushing their mouths together and weaving a hand into Curly’s dark hair. Curly stops him for a second and gives an uncertain nervous chuckle (Jud is sure he’s one of perhaps two people to ever hear the sound leave his mouth) as he says he doesn’t know how to, that he’s never done anything with a man before. Neither of them get back home until the darkest hours of the night, and when they do so they are ruffled like two cats after a fight.

There is no doubt that Curly tells Laurey what goes on, because even if the pair ain’t married they are still close enough for the word _infidelity _to still haunt Jud’s thoughts. Again the reason rings in his head, _doing this so she won’t have to_, and perhaps that is as close Laurey and Jud ever will become. Nothing more than her nodding at him, greeting him first, a sense of trust instilled in her thanks to the “self sacrifices” Curly puts himself through (Jud must think of a better word for it, because if what he and Curly do can be considered self sacrifice then Curly must be considered a masochist).

The town’s perception of him does not change dramatically. Aunt Eller’s nasal tone greets him now, people don’t talk behind his back, and Jud no longer feels like an interloper in the small commune.

Perhaps that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's all I got. 
> 
> Laurey I'm sorry for giving you the short stick :<  
I really wanted her to have at least some part in this since she is a vital part of the musical but I was speedrunning this and finished it the day before leaving the country for 4 days.  
I have another thing in mind I want to write (AU where some of the characters are college students that go camping in October _but then it gets spooky_) which will have more opportunity to get Laurey in there. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :>


End file.
